


Latebra Bellorum

by FrenchGuardsman



Category: Journey's End - Sherriff
Genre: A Journey's End stan by my own fault, Also a warning for my bad writing, M/M, This is the proof of my true love towards my best friend, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchGuardsman/pseuds/FrenchGuardsman
Summary: Captain Stanhope, one night before the raiding party's departure. Alone with his thoughts. And alone with Lieutenant Osborne.





	Latebra Bellorum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my dear Kai](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+dear+Kai).



The frontline was stubbornly silent.

Captain Stanhope did not like this. He knew it, by experience; if the Germans were busy shelling a trench, they were not busy preparing an assault. What used to scare him as a younger man was now almost reassuring for him: the light tremor of the dugout’s beams supporting the wooden walls, the distant purring of the five-nines that, after a week or two, only became an odd sort of lullaby that barely covered Hibbert’s muffled snoring in the early hours of the morning. Of course, no one truly paid mind to a sudden silence in the support trench. They assumed that Stanhope would take charge, that was all. He was a brilliant company commander, a war hero, wasn’t he? If only they knew how much Stanhope dreaded to see the letters ‘MC’ following his name on every official document. It was as if he wanted to tear them off. Then, he did not quite know if that bitter soreness in his throat was due to alcohol or to how badly his nerves were shaken by those two innocent-looking letters, as badly shaken as the day he earned them.

Why was he thinking so furiously and abruptly of his medal when his only mission at the moment was to stand on the firing step and look through the trench periscope? He supposed that his gulp of rum had dulled off. He could feel his blood turn ice cold in his veins. It was when he noticed that his knuckles had turned a pale white that Stanhope let go of the periscope’s end at last, stepping out of the platform and tapping a private’s shoulder to order him to relieve the sentry. He hated that everything was so awfully calm. If he had not won that abhorred medal, he thought, then perhaps his superior officers would stop giving him such an undeserved reputation – maybe they would have chosen him for the raiding party.  
The high command had never cared about sparing him for the past years, why the Hell would they care now? Now, of all times-- what scarlet tabs-wearing imbecile comfortably sitted in his velvet-covered armchair one thousand miles away from the first line decided that, definitely, Lieutenants Raleigh and Osborne were the right choice for this mission?  
He knew now. He knew why this night seemed so appalling to him. The one preceding the raid…

__

‘I only just exited that dugout, and the next thing I find out-- we are lacking no less than three or four sentries on either side of the trench! Do you realise how quickly we would get devoured if the Boches were to attack-- four sentries-- now of all times-- when their artillery barrage has ceased! I trust my men enough to know that they would not forget that task. Whom here has forgotten to give the order?!’

But Stanhope’s wrath, unleashed as soon as he walked back downstairs to reach the dugout, was only met with a puzzled silence by the only man who sat at the table. Osborne. Even when bearing the undeserved consequence of an officer’s forgetfulness, he could never quite blame the captain, and only smiled at him with the cordiality of an old schoolmaster greeting his favourite pupils now grown older.

‘I fear you are scolding no one of interest at the moment, Stanhope. The others have gone.  
\- Where to?  
\- They are replacing the sentries you are missing so atrociously, and Mason has gone to sleep upstairs. Now, why don’t you take a seat? You look quite tense.’  
Stanhope pulled a chair to himself, but sat down precipitously, flattening his hands against the table in the middle of the dugout.  
‘Look, Uncle. Efforts were made. Only a gulp of rum this evening, nothing more, nothing less--  
\- When did I ever talk about alcohol? Everything’s all right, old chap. It is not quite warm out there, I understand. But look, your bed is not too cold. It will warm up when you lay in it. You just need to have some sleep-- everything’s all right.’

Osborne squeezed Stanhope’s hand warmly over the table, and a brief glimpse of a smile lit up the older man’s face as he breathed yet another puff of smoke from his pipe. Stanhope seemed to gather his spirits for a moment, staring intently at the glass bottle standing on his right side, and finally decided to pour himself a tot of liquor.

‘Can I speak to you, from man to man… Uncle, let’s keep it between us...  
\- Of course.  
\- That raid is a bloody bad idea. Sending Raleigh and you – the boy’s just a boy, and you have been leading the last party already. No Man’s Land still stinks of the last attack. Truly, I cannot imagine…  
\- I’ll watch over him. Not a worry to have, trully.  
\- You ought to be back as well.  
\- I should think so. I will ask the Kaiser if he’s quite all right with that,’ Osborne said as he grinned cheerfully.  
‘This is all very serious, Uncle.  
\- Awfully serious, old chap. Have you heard about Trotter’s new package? He said he would share it with us all. Chocolate and cake, no less… sent by his family…  
\- And now the sky is clear, but tomorrow it might be raining, and you will see less then. You never know what the Boches are up to when the field is covered in fog.  
\- Oh, I’ve seen worse than that, I can distinguish silhouettes very well. Have you tried to read _Under Fire_? A wholly pleasant book to read, although the subject matter is unfortunately familiar.  
\- Dear God-- literature bores me altogether! Osborne, we must talk-- I must tell you-- I care about you deeply. Now I must sound quite silly. Do I sound silly, Uncle? Surely you do think that but dare not tell me. You can understand how I feel, can’t you?  
\- Of course, Stanhope. I care about you too, you know this, very much. That is why I think you should have some rest.  
\- No, I will not. Can’t you see how wide awake I am! I trust you, of all men... to understand me. I know you do. Osborne, don’t you?  
\- You are getting quite lost in your thoughts. I will tuck you into bed.  
\- Osborne, don’t you--’

Stanhope’s hand was still in Osborne’s, and at this moment its grip tightened so much that his knuckles had turned white again. Suddenly frightened that he may have hurt the older man with unconscious strength, he suddenly let go of him and stood up, only to be followed by the lieutenant who seemed to ready himself to lend a shoulder to the trembling captain and lead him to bed, but Stanhope only grabbed the other’s shoulders to gaze directly into his eyes, biting his lip so anxiously that a small tear of blood seemed to form upon it.

‘You see, Uncle, I don’t know what I would do if you did not come back. I look upon it all and think that-- we barely talk about what is important because I take for granted that you understand it without me talking about it. Don’t you? You’re the only one who can do that, I feel. You see, sometimes, I think that it’s just the Germans, and you and me, and no one else – that’s already a lot – and sometimes I think that there is no one but you and me, all short, and I think of it as a fond thought. Don’t you ever think of how much better that bloody dugout would be if it were just you and me? I would drink less than a gulp of rum then...’

But Osborne did not answer. He was surprised by that sudden display of affection, but he now realised how guilty Stanhope had looked those last days about not taking part in the raiding party. He felt that his companion was unusually worried, that he would feel better the next day – he always did, and then would he climb back to the frontline trench to cheer up his men and trust in God’s benevolent will and Osborne’s experienced leadership.  
So he only decided to comfort the captain, and he pulled him into a hearty embrace, rubbing his palm gently against the other’s spine. He only looked thoughtful as the tip of his fingers ruffled Stanhope’s hair in reassuring affection, and the captain half-opened his mouth, as if struck by how compassionate his friend was – he was always struck by his qualities, no matter how many times he showed them.  
But Stanhope had no spirits for words anymore. He decided to partake in that embrace more willingly, wrap his arms around Osborne tighter, and his lips pressed against the lieutenant’s with the energy of a man already desperate to meet him again, his fingers clenching up on the other’s overcoat with selfish emotion – and he felt tears well up in his eyes when he finally felt that, after a few seconds of hesitation, the other officer kissed him back with tenderness.  
How long did it last? One second and an eternity at once, Stanhope thought. He had acted impulsively, he knew it. Perhaps he would regret it. They were not supposed to do that – but Osborne was not supposed to be part of that raiding party, either. It was all a fair exchange. And he only stepped back once he felt he was running out of breath, his heart pounding strongly against his chest.

‘Now will you kiss me as you tuck me into bed, Osborne--  
\- I will. But you must be willing to get some rest for that. Come along, old chap…  
\- And I’ll kiss you again tomorrow.  
\- Yes, you’ll kiss me again tomorrow. Come here, the bed is warmer already.  
\- I must reek of whisky, don’t I?  
\- When did I ever talk about alcohol? Stanhope, you are a nicer man than you think. We shall talk about it, I promise. Now you must sleep.’

So the captain went without protest, letting himself fall on the bed at once, letting the schoolmaster lean over him and drape the blankets over Stanhope, who gazed at him with faintly coloured cheeks – from both the cold and alcohol, one would suppose.

‘It felt terribly lonely in that trench. I never realise how much I need my dear old Osborne until he is not with me. Say, Uncle, you don’t realise how much I adore you.  
\- I love you too, Dennis. I would have stayed longer if I could.  
\- Oh, but you shall stay with me longer soon. Now I must sleep-- you asked so. Still, how frightfully cold… and that raiding party…  
\- There are things you must not talk about, Dennis.  
\- That much is true. Righto. Let’s not talk about those things. Raiding parties make me sick, so do cigars. There are only so few sweet things in the world.  
\- Like you, old chap.  
\- Like you, old man. Goodnight now. … Don’t let go of my hand just yet-- don’t let go of it, would you? Cheero, old man...’


End file.
